


Hello!

by roswyrm



Series: (Eric Andre Voice) What If It Was High School [6]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fake Blood, Fist Fights, Gambling, Gen, It Will Soon I Swear, Misgendering, Non-Graphic Violence, Real Blood, Trans Female Character, fight! fight! fight!, it just. doesn't come up in this fic., pathfinder money systems bc im lazy, zolf is also trans and so is hamid bc it's my world and i say so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-21 11:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Sasha is being followed, Zolf is...interviewing... people, Bertie is getting run into quite a bit, and Hamid is frittering.





	Hello!

**Author's Note:**

> i basically just stole the description/title from the first episode rip. take me to plagiarisers gaol boys. oh also the money in this weird universe is still pathfinder money. bc. i refuse to use dollars or pounds or anything else. its just. silver and gold. and like, nominally copper? but nobody uses copper except maybe sasha and thats just for the first ten episodes anyway. oh yeah and uhhhh speaking of our favourite rogue, sasha is trans and Highly Androgynous so she's misgendered/deadnamed quite a bit? but it all gets sorted out. Working Title: _let's get lemony snicket up in this bith_

Sasha doesn't get noticed. Sasha _never_ gets noticed. Big black hoodie paired with shaggy black hair means most label her as "that emo kid" and leave her alone. But there's someone she recognises watching her in the reflections from the cafeteria windows. She doesn't like his smile.

She moves to the middle of the main hall as the bell rings, and she's instantly surrounded by people. She catches glimpses of him, just a little bit behind her. And then, she sees someone else, someone she almost recognises from when she was still living under Barrat's roof. She starts clicking a pen in her pocket, dashing through the hall with the steady _click-a click-a click-a_ of Six in her ears.

She bumps into someone, and they shout, "Watch it!" It feels like everyone moves away from her. A five-foot radius of nothingness with her as the bullseye. She swears under her breath and dashes _faster_.

_______

Zolf can't believe he skipped lunch for this. His perfectly nice sandwich is sitting, abandoned, in his locker while he has to watch this kid try and do a handstand. The kid, on his back after falling out of the handstand, asks, "Can I join?" 

Zolf's "club" is supposed to be for everyone. But this kid has been yammering for the past however-long-it's-been without so much as a pause for breath, and the whole point is to have somewhere quiet. "Uh," he says, and turns to look at Figgus. Figgus's zoned-out glare isn't any more or less deadpan than any of the others Zolf's seen. Damn, he really thought he'd get him to make a decision, this time. "I'm gonna say no." 

The kid starts, "But, I'm really good at cartwheels, too! Can I show you the cartwheel?"

Figgus clears his throat and reaches into his coat. The kid turns very, _very_ white. "I'll, uh, I'll go! I'll go." He opens the door of the classroom they're using and steps into a large, broad white and gold letterman. The kid blinks. "Um?" He says.

The letterman announces, "Hello!" and Zolf pinches the bridge of his nose. Something tells him that this is going to be a _long_ hour.

_______

Hamid isn't quite sure how he ended up playing a MacGyvered roulette with all of the Drama Club officers during lunch hour, but he's certainly not complaining. He's winning. And sure, they're betting things like five copper and a bag of potato chips, but Hamid's not picky. He used to spend off periods playing blackjack in Miss Curie's chemistry lab, and that was hardly a formal affair.

"I'd say," announces Reese, one of the lieutenants, "all in on red." He pushes his (small) bag of Oreos into the centre. Everyone turns to Hamid, next in the order, who has the biggest pile.

It's a lot of attention. Hamid's always had a talent for drawing out his moment in the spotlight, so he flips a silver through his fingers for just long enough that even the captains seem to be holding their breaths. He puts it down on top of his stack and moves it to the centre to meet Reese's Oreos. Hamid grins like he's the star in a spy-thriller. "All in on red," he says.

The officer next to him, a sophomore named Lissa, beams and pounds him on the back so hard Hamid can already feel the bruise forming. "Atta boy!" she hollers, shoving her eight silver (all in change) and roast-beef sandwich into the middle. "All in for red!"

_______

Sasha's running down some main hallway, dodging through a bunch of other freshman chanting like idiots. Hopefully, she'll be able to get through the jocks faster than the other Barrat lot will be able to. One of the taller ones grabs her by the hand and shout-sings, "Why was he born so beautiful, why was he born at all?"

They swing her round in a dance— in the loosest definition of the word "dance"— and she manages to get into a dance with a different one, and then _different_ different one, and then another and another, until she's through the crowd of jocks and darting down a side hallway.

 _Click-a click-a click-a_ goes Six in her left hand.  
_Click-a click-a click-a_ goes Two in her right.

_______

"Well done, nice to meet you!" Bertie says to the young, freckly lad looking up at him with awe. He pats the little boy on the shoulder and watches him sag under the weight of Bertie's hand.

A very aggrieved voice calls, "Next." as if this were a casting agency. And Bertie knows all about casting agencies, he's caused a scene in at least seventeen of them, and is banned from at least six! He was a rather delightful child. Anyway. Bertie pats the boy on the other shoulder and politely shoves him out the door. Bertie very carefully manoeuvres his lacrosse stick through the doorway.

As he walks in, he sees a very short little man with a beard and a _very_ Please-Shut-Up-I-Haven't-Been-Listening-Anyway expression. Usually, Bertie only gets that expression after the person has known him for quite some time. Or after Bertie has been talking for five minutes. His reputation must precede him. "Yes," he declares to the room at large, including the bigger gentleman sat behind the very small one, "a pleasure to meet you. And a pleasure for you to meet me."

He makes his way over to the short man and shakes his hand. The short man does not seem to be as enthused as he should be, so he shakes the little man's hand extra hard and smiles. He looks unimpressed. Bertie shakes the larger gentleman's hand, making eye-contact, as it is only polite to do. The shorter gentleman leads, "So, um. You would be..."

Bertie answers, "Bertrand MacGuffingham. You may call me Bertrand. My friends call me Bertrand." It's a lie. His friends call him "Bertie". Lying to an authority figure. The thrill. The horror. The _adrenaline._

The man who appears to be the leader sighs heavily. He gestures to his companion, "That's Figgus Hopson," and then he gestures to himself, "I'm Zolf Smith. Why do you want to be in this club?" 

Bertie thinks. "My therapists said it would be good for me and my parents won't give me my allowance unless I join _something_. So. Tada." Zolf(?) raises an eyebrow. Figgus(???) leans over and whispers something. Zolf(?) sighs very loudly.

Zolf(?) looks up at him and says, "Alright. Yeah, you're in." with the least amount of enthusiasm possible. Bertie is offended. "Uh, we meet up on Tuesdays—"

There's very rapid knocking at the door. Bertie turns and opens it. There's no one there. "I don't mean to alarm you, gentlemen, but this hallway may be haunted." Zolf sighs again— he does that a lot— and stands up to go investigate with him. Bertie steps out of the doorway to look for the ghost. Something smacks into his chest. "Hello?"

_______

Sasha slips between the wall/person's legs. The wall/person booms, "Ah, hello! How can I help you?" to the empty air she's left behind. She legs it down the hallway. Edgar, almost predictably, steps into the other end.

She skids to a halt and takes a shaky step back. She backs towards the wall/person. Edgar starts strolling toward her, and she doesn't know what the glint in his hand is, but she knows it can't be good. "Do we— do we have a problem here?" A new voice asks, and Sasha notices there are _five_ people in the hallway with her, not three. 

Edgar smirks, and the glint goes away into a pocket, and Sasha is _certain_ it's a knife. He says, "No. No problem."

"No problem at all," adds the other one, face pale and sweaty, "I don't see a problem. Oi, uh, _Thompson_ ," he continues, talking to Edgar, "do you see a problem?"

Edgar grins. "No," he answers. "No problems." They're using aliases.  
Sasha doesn't know these new people, but she knows she can't let them leave her here alone.

The wall/person from before chimes in, "Excellent! If there are no problems, lovely to meet you! Hello, I'm Captain Bertrand "Bertie" MacGuffingham!" and he sticks out a hand. 

Sasha suppresses a groan. Of course he's utterly useless. The jacket he's wearing is too clean for him to be any real use in a fight. The stick he's got means he's on the lacrosse team. Lacrosse members are always useless in fights.

The one she doesn't know seems very taken aback by the meaty hand now in front of his face. "Uh. Yeah, hello," he stammers, "I, uh. I'd shake your hand, but I've just eaten—" his eyes dart back and forth— "food."

The non-wall nudges her gently. She didn't notice him coming over (stupid, _stupid_ ) and she yanks Six from her pocket just in case. He asks, "What's going on?"

_______

The freshman leans down and whispers, "Yes. Yes, we _do_ have a problem."

"Right. What's the problem?"

"These... I used to work for? Them?" Zolf's seen the other kids before. Around the shit part of town, with something heavy weighing down their pockets until enough people stopped by and hid something from those pockets in their own coats or bags or baskets. The kid continues, "And I don't want to— and they disagreed? With my change in... employment?" 

Zolf looks them up and down. Their face is gaunt; their hair is tangled and could use a cut. Definitely fits their story, definitely needs to get escorted to Harringay where they'll be safer.

The taller one interrupts, "Now, come on, James, we've all got places to be." The kid— James?— flinches further into his hoodie. He flips the pen he'd drawn earlier like it's a safeguard and slowly edges towards the wall.

Zolf mutters, "Leave this to me," and then takes a step closer to the taller one. The bell's not going to ring _soon,_ but he can probably stall for long enough that James can get away. Zolf clears his throat and says, "Sorry, uh, we're actually supposed to be monitoring the halls," because it's the first half-reasonable excuse he can come up with. Figgus is smart enough to go along with it, and Bertie is probably too dumb to figure out he's lying. And, hey, the announcements said something about new hall monitors, right? "And I'm afraid this is obstructing the flow of traffic. So, Figgus, Bertie, if you wouldn't mind moving these gentlemen out of the way?"

He whispers to the freshman, "Stay by me," and the boy slouches low and follows him.

_______

The less-threatening gentleman— neither of them are particularly threatening, Bertie could probably pick both of them up in one hand— tries to say something along the lines of an excuse. Bertie isn't really paying attention. Zolf wants the gentlemen gone, and the gentlemen want everyone except the quiet child gone.

Now, see, here's the thing. Bertie isn't dumb. Oh, sure, he got kicked off of the lacrosse team for trying to bribe the coach into kicking off one of the freshmen (oh, the irony), but that was a stupid _move_ ; Bertie isn't a stupid _man_. 

Also, he's bought enough illegal substances off of these people to recognise that whatever it is they want from the child, it won't end well for them. And Bertie knows that if Harkness & Sphinx find out he didn't get involved in another fight, he'll never get his allowance back. They were so displeased after he didn't do anything in the last fight he saw. Zolf says, "Sorry, but we are just doing our jobs."

The lad closest to Bertie laughs and says, "Oh, so are we! So are we," as he slowly gets even closer to the small-but-not-quite-as-small freshman. Well, probably a freshman. They do have the face for it. 

Bertie chimes in, "Well, now, perhaps we could have this conversation—" he steps closer to Thompson, ushering him away— "outside of this narrow hallway, hm? Let the traffic flow a little more freely." Thompson does not let Bertie usher him, and instead, stays stood where he is. He turns to Bertie with a very plastic smile, looking about to make an excuse to stay here.

And then Bertie headbutts him.

In the face.

_______

Sasha darts over to the one she doesn't know as soon as Edgar hits the ground. And she doesn't have her knives (Mr Gusset made her stop bringing them to school), but she does have Six and Two in her hands.

Pens don't do as much damage, but they can still hurt if you stab hard enough.

The one she doesn't know reaches into his coat. She dashes around him in an arc, ricochets off the wall with her heel, and buries Two in his ribs. He yelps in pain. She draws it back out again and stabs Six into his shoulder. He collapses, holding his wounds. She knows there's at least two more of Barrat's lot in the crowd after them, and she considers just booking it.

And then the two others come around the corner and Sasha groans. At least the lacrosse-wall is actually halfway decent at this.

The lacrosse-wall bellows, "Good afternoon, bloody little poor people!" at the newcomers as he picks up his massive stick and swings it at them.

Sasha could leg it. She could leg it, and she'd be fine, but. Well, the lacrosse-wall stepped up to the plate. Might as well stick around, see this through. She ducks behind a door and waits.

_______

Hamid lost everything in that last round except for a silver he'd snuck into his pocket. He's annoyed about the loss of _food_ more than anything else. The bell has rung, but he still has a few minutes to get to Seminar, so he'll just follow the crowd of people. They seem to be cheering for something, but Hamid hasn't the faintest idea what.

He squeezes around people to get to the front faster and sees someone laid out on the floor of a narrow hall, blood gushing from their nose. Standing above them is a massive person in a spotless white-and-gold letterman with a falcon emblazoned on the back. They're swinging a lacrosse stick at someone, and their short blond hair is very clean-cut, and—

"Oh my god," says Hamid, voice lost in the roar of the crowd, "it's Bertie!"

_______

Zolf swears. He goes back into the room he'd borrowed for the interviews and grabs the first aid kit. It's not easy to move quickly when you've got on a prosthetic and your legs aren't long to begin with, but he manages to get the kit and get back out to the person James just _stabbed_.

He kneels down and starts disinfecting the wounds before awkwardly pressing a cloth bandaid to them. He's in no way _better,_ but at the very least, he won't get, like, _gangrene_ or something. Ink poisoning, more likely, because Zolf looks up to see James clicking the pens in his hands anxiously.

"'Join a club, Zolf!'" he mutters to himself in his best impression of Feryn, dragging the person to a wall, "'You need to get out more, Zolf! You'll meet interesting people!' Yeah, plenty bloody interesting. _Christ."_

Zolf manages to lean him against a wall and swears some more. There's the sound of a door creaking open and then shut, but Zolf doesn't really care about that. He takes the person by the chin and looks at him. He's awake, but not very aware. Zolf stands up and runs (his leg isn't _really_ made for that) down the hallway, still lugging the first aid kit.

There's a crowd now, roaring encouragements for "small knife person", "little stab-boy" and "stabby girl". Zolf's guessing those are all for James. Bertie mutters something, sounding very annoyed, and then there's a cry of pain and a _loud_ crunch.

Zolf whirls around as the crowd cheers to see a similarly dressed probably-drug-mule down on the ground, with a _very bloodied head_. Bertie, stood over them, is wielding his lacrosse stick like a baseball bat and looking very pleased with himself. Zolf groans. "Oh, don't worry," he explains under his breath to the imaginary administrators, "we're doing _crowd-control."_

A whistle sounds, and Zolf doesn't have to look to know it's the _actual_ administrators, probably towing Harringay along behind them. Great. Everything's _great._

...Feryn's never going to let him hear the end of this.

_______

Bertie and Hamid haven't seen each other in a year. Bertie had left the school at his parent's insistence over some scandal that the school board didn't care to cover up. Hamid had been expelled only a few months later, and it seemed like they had moved to the same public school. And now, Bertie has just crushed someone's skull in. 

Okay, not _actually,_ but it does almost look that way. Hamid's sure there's a reason. And he does have a few squibs stuck under his clothes because the FX Captain needed practice. Might as well help out some, right? So he reaches into his sleeve and punctures one of the squibs with his nail, causing too-red blood to spill all over his shirt. 

(He hopes this is the kind of fake blood that washes out well. He rather likes this shirt.)

He perforates all of the squibs he can reach without tearing his clothes or ruining his manicure, and steps into the front of the crowd. "Come to Bertie & Bott's for all your blood-based jokes!" he shouts loudly, hoping they'll buy it.

(Some people buy it. Not _enough_ people buy it for Hamid to be quite happy with himself, but oh, well. He'll try again in a bit.)

_______

Bertie has just done some fantastic work. The crowd is now cheering for _him,_ instead of the little stabby person. Zolf, from further down the hallway, yells, "Don't kill them, you idiot!" 

Bertie decides that he does what he wants.

(But then he thinks about how awful juvenile detention would be, and decides what he wants is to not kill them.)

He turns to the other newcomer, only to see Zolf stomp up and punch them in the stomach, and then the face when they collapse inwards. They hit the ground, out cold.

Zolf shakes his hand out subtly. "Ow," he grits out, before going over to the gentleman Bertie just incapacitated and doing some... medical... things.

(Bertie only passed Health Class because he paid off the teacher, he has no idea what Zolf's doing.)

Someone taps him on the hip. He looks down to see a familiar face. "Bertie, what's going on?" asks a small man he vaguely recognises. Bertie squints at him.

He definitely is a person. He definitely is a person Bertie _knows._ And he's also definitely covered in blood, but that doesn't seem to be worrying him, so Bertie's sure it's fine. He begins, "Ah. Well, you see, we were. Ehm, _assaulted—" good use of that word_ , he thinks to himself— "by these _very rude_ gentlemen. So um. _This_ happened."

Zolf looks up from the bloodied person and says, "Exactly. So, uh." He pauses and dabs a bit more hospital-smelling liquid onto the person's face. The person moans and rolls over slightly. Zolf looks back up, and he looks the way people look whenever Bertie is standing menacingly. Not quite _terrified,_ but certainly _concerned._ “We’re doing crowd control? So, we—” he gestures vaguely at the incredibly unconscious person next to him— “controlled the crowd.”

Bertie adds, “Yes, this crowd is very much controlled. Look!” He kicks the person in the ribs. “Very sedate!” Zolf shoots him a glare, but Bertie doesn’t know what for. He’s helping!

_______

Zolf has precisely no idea who this person is or why they’re covered in blood, but he’s pretty sure it just means more trouble for him. The bloodied newcomer says, “They all saw you… well, they saw you _crush_ that poor person.” 

Zolf waves a hand and says, “Nothing to see here,” and then _immediately_ cringes. The only time anyone ever says ‘nothing to see here’ is when there are a lot of things to see there. He tries, “Just, uh, your ev—” and stops because. No. He looks at James, sees that he’s vanished, and then turns to Bertie. “Someone help me, please” he suggests.

No one does. 

The bloody stranger raises their eyebrows in a very judgy way that Zolf is not a fan of. Fine, he’ll just keep stumbling through pretending this is a legitimate thing they were doing and that it’s all A-Okay. “Everyday crowd control, please—”

“He’s dead!” shouts a voice. Everybody mumbles slightly louder. Zolf stands up (his knee is not built to be bent that long, ow) and tries to actually do some crowd control. 

“No, no, he’s not dead—”  
“Yeah, he is!”

“He’s resting,” announces Bertie, and Zolf kind of wants to punch him.

James, suddenly behind him, chimes in, “Good, uh, good. Rehearsing? For the... show? Guys?” 

Zolf tugs at his sleeve and corrects, “No, we’re crowd control. Like, that's actually what we're doing!" James blinks at him slowly. He whispers, "Weren't you listening to the announcements?" James shakes his head. "Hall monitoring. Join in and maybe not get sent to OC."

James clears his throat awkwardly and says, "Yeah, uh, controlling. Crowds. Monitoring halls. Yep." 

Zolf resists the urge to put his head in his hands because he knows James is probably still being more convincing than he is.

"I saw her shank that guy!" cries another person from the crowd. 

James disappears slightly into his hoodie. "Controlling shank?" he explains. 

This time, Zolf _does_ put his head in his hands. It's accompanied by the bloodied person sighing heavily. 

And then one of the administrators gets through and gestures incoherently at the one Zolf punched out. (He recognises her, actually. Ms Ortega. She's had to take him to ISS more times than he'd really like to count.) _"What?"_ she asks, and Zolf resists the urge to be sarcastic at her. She's just doing her job, and she has to deal with enough of his shit already. "Zolf, what did— what even— _what?"_ she repeats, and Zolf rolls back his shoulders to make himself look half an inch taller.

He explains, "There was a rowdy group in the halls. They were trying to hurt my associate here. We stopped them." Ms Ortega stares at him blankly. He smiles. 

_______

A taller man weaves his way through the crowd and puts a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Go make yourself busy," he mutters, and she stammers for a moment more before going off.

Sasha's pretty sure it's Harringay. She can't really see, and it's too loud to focus quite right, but the big, clearly dyed beard looks familiar enough. The first-aid guy steps out in front of her. She can't _see_ him smiling, but she's pretty sure that's what his inflexion means. First-aid guy greets, "Oh, Counsellor. Nice to see you."

Harringay— definitely Harringay, unless there's another counsellor she doesn't know about— sighs. "What've you done, Zolf?" he asks. Zolf (that's a familiar name, why is that a familiar name?) starts to speak, but Harringay interrupts, "I'm looking here, and what I'm seeing is a disaster."

Zolf (she's heard that name before, _where_ has she heard that name before?) says, "Well, there was a particularly rowdy section of the crowd, that we had to stop from being so rowdy." Sasha doesn't click her pens because she doesn't know if that'll help. Harringay doesn't seem to have clocked her, so she's not going to give herself away.

"Lot of blood around," Harringay remarks pointedly, glaring at Zolf, "for hall monitoring." Sasha hits her thumbs against her index fingers instead of clicking.

Zolf says nothing, but Sasha knows the difference between 'contemplative silence' and 'floundering'. After a moment, Zolf concedes, _"Yes—_ maybe the methods used— uh, this is Bertie." He gestures at the lacrosse-wall. The lacrosse-wall, Bertie, stops cleaning blood off his lacrosse stick and beams at Harringay. Harringay looks unimpressed. "He's new."

Bertie waves. "Hello!" he bellows, walking over to Harringay for a handshake. Harringay does accept the handshake, though he looks irritated the entire time. "Delighted to meet you!" Bertie slaps him on the shoulder the way Sasha used to see some of the better-avoided clientele greet the sellers. "Well then, young man, _well."_ begins Bertie.

Harringay, who's probably in his late forties at the earliest, raises his eyebrows and looks back to Zolf. Zolf shrugs. Sasha moves slightly out of the door's shadow. She can see more of everyone's faces, out here. She doesn't know if she likes it.

"There was a whole situation," Bertie continues, "but it's all settled now. No need to worry." Harringay raises his eyebrows even further. Zolf makes a "you see what I'm saying" gesture.

The little bloody person (it doesn't look like real blood, though. Too red, not clumpy enough) turns to the crowd and announces, "Off to class, everyone! The teachers have it under control!" Everyone grumbles as they start moving away. 

(An announcement comes on. "Teachers, if you could please step out and monitor the hallways? If you could please step out and monitor the hallways, thank you." Sasha snorts a laugh. That's what they ran at the middle school whenever fights broke out, too. This place really is just the same little fish in a bigger pond like Mr Gusset said.)

The wall/person peeks out from inside a room. "Sorry, I was, uh—" his eyes dart back and forth— "securing the perimeter."

The bloody person raises his eyebrows. Zolf glares. "Figgus," he says, and Sasha stifles a laugh. _Figgus?_ "what did you pay me? To join?"

Figgus blinks. "Uh," he says. "Nothing?" Zolf nods.

"Good, so I won't have to worry about the refund. Because you're out of the club."

Figgus flounders, mouth opening and closing without any words coming out. "Oh, well that's. That's a bit steep, I— I got an. An escape route all set! Like, if things went south—" Bertie grabs Figgus by the shoulders and pins him against the wall, legs dangling a few inches above the ground. "I could kick your ass," bluffs Figgus, eyes wide with fear, "I know sixteen different way to take your arm out, right now."

Bertie unpins him from the wall in order to properly shake him. "You're a bloody little coward!" Bertie announces. 

Zolf (the person who's club she was supposed to join! That's where she's heard the name!) takes Bertie by the arm. "Let's not make a scene. We already had one of those." Figgus wriggles a bit in Bertie's grasp. Sasha's disappointed. He can't even get out of a hold as flimsy as Bertie's correctly. "Go away, Figgus." 

"S'ridiculous," Figgus mutters, "this whole thing's— put me down!" He wriggles more, and Bertie drops him. He takes a menacing step towards him, but Zolf steps in the way. "Well- I- you know- I-"

Zolf leans in and reiterates, "Go away." Figgus makes a noise like the stereotypical teenage girls on sitcoms do and stomps off. He pushes past a few people. One of them pushes him back, and he tumbles over. 

Loser.

Zolf sighs. "Well, looks like we're down one. So, uh." He leans in and whispers, "What was your name again?"

It takes her a bit longer than it should have to realise he's talking to her. "Uh," she stammers, "Sasha." He looks her over. 

(She should have said James, why didn't she say James?)

"Sasha," he echoes, and there's the hint of a smile on his lips, "nice name. I'm assuming you use she/her?" She freezes. 

(He seems okay; what if he isn't? But he didn't ask if she was a girl, he asked for her pronouns specifically. He's probably safe. Right? People who aren't safe don't ask about pronouns.)

She nods mutely. He smiles. "Okay. I'm Zolf. He/him. Uh, I could use another person in my club. Care to join up?"

_______

Hamid taps Bertie's arm. "So, this is what you're doing, nowadays?"

Bertie blinks at him. "Ah," he says, startled out of whatever reverie he'd been in, "yes. Um, yes. You know. A club! Glory, quiet, a nice place to do homework and not anger my therapists."

Bertie hasn't changed too much since Hamid last saw him.

"And," a voice cuts in, "your name is..?" Hamid turns.

"Oh," Hamid stammers, reaching out a hand, "I'm Hamid!"

The person grins and takes his hand. "Zolf," he responds, "nice to meet you."

"Pleasure."

Zolf takes a step back. "So, uh. You seem relatively handy with people. Lord knows I'm not—"

"I'm brilliant with people!" Bertie interjects. Zolf glares up at him, longsuffering. So they know each other, then. Zolf is probably the club president. He looks like a senior. "Very much a people person, I am. Give me a person, and, uh, we'll get on like a house on fire! There'll be screaming, but it will be _happy_ screaming," Bertie continues, but Hamid stops paying attention. Zolf sighs.

Hamid shrugs and concedes, "Bertie was very popular at Towers." Zolf raises an eyebrow at him. He chuckles awkwardly and elaborates, "Private school. Which is where we met." Zolf nods. He opens his mouth to say something just as the counsellor clears his throat. Loudly.

He says, "Excuse me." Zolf winces. Harringay continues, "Mr Smith, you and your merry band need to be in my office. Right now."

Zolf gives a sheepish nod. With his back still to Harringay, he mouths to Hamid, "Wanna come?"

(Being escorted to the counsellor's office with an old friend, a stab-happy freshman, and an awkward club leader probably shouldn't be as appealing as it is. Especially not when he's covered in fake blood. Not that it _is_ appealing, it's just more appealing than Seminar.

Hamid supposes there are worse things he could do with his seventh period than charming an authority figure into not expelling Bertie. And not expelling the others. They seem nice enough.)

Hamid smiles at the club leader and steps forward. "Lead the way, Mr Harringay."

**Author's Note:**

> OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY DONE PROLOGUES OVER PROLOGUES OVER F U C K. okay. WHOO. time to post bullshit based off my friends instead of based off the podcast lmaooo. im on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer come talk to me or follow me or maybe just like all of my dumb incorrect quotes. whatever floats ur boat, really. i'm not picky abt the interaction I receive.


End file.
